


Sapphires don't Shatter

by Frostberry



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, after the war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 15:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18813352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostberry/pseuds/Frostberry
Summary: With nowhere to go after the sack of King's Landing, Jaime boards the boat Tyrion and Davos prepared. The waters take him to Tarth, where extreme isolation forces him to fend for himself.





	Sapphires don't Shatter

Jaime never went to Pentos, as Tyrion suggested to him. 

The Red Keep fell, its lungs bursting with dust and fire and smoke and ash and dead bodies and everything that mattered to him. 

Cersei’s body was destroyed by the rocks; his golden hand was gone. The rocks where the boat was had given away, making a hole small enough for him to climb through. Cersei was crushed to death; Jaime could feel with the stump of his arm warm blood where Cersei’s skull was supposed to be, which was now buried several feet away. Her dress was torn, and her body was malnourished from what he could see from the light. 

She was never pregnant. 

His mind raced with options. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Go to Pentos? Like Tyrion said? 

Then Bronn would probably kill him there too with Joffrey’s crossbow. 

He couldn’t go North; Sansa would probably execute him there too for abandoning Brienne. 

Dorne? 

Maybe to Dorne. 

Disorientated, the dinghy Davos and Tyrion had arranged was too heavy at that moment for him to pull out to sea. He collapsed into it instead; and the last thing he saw in the sky was smoke, salt from the sea and the ashes littering the boat like snow. 

***

Jaime awoke, his body rough with the stab wounds Euron gave him earlier. The small vessel had carried him out into the sea with no lands anywhere. He quickly looked into the sun had no idea where the hell he was.

Either he had been out for days or only for hours. 

Tyrion and Davos had prepared the getaway boat for him. It contained several woolen blankets, a medical chest and several packs of rations: sugared milk, salted rabbit meat, and hard bread that was like biting into a rock. Rain water was found in the chest which was supposed to help clear the wounds; yet the leeches in the corner were doing a better job. 

Jaime soaked the bread in the water, and put a few blankets under his head. He could be going south for all he cared. 

No matter where he ran in Westeros, he would be cornered. If King’s Landing was burned to the ground, and neither him or Cersei were nowhere to be found, Tyrion would be done for. The last of the Lannisters, the three of them were. 

He thought about Brienne, the woman he loved; crying and begging him to come back to Winterfell. 

_ I’m a hateful man. I’ll come back to you.  _

The fresh water Tyrion and Davos provided slowly diminished; all Jaime knew was he had to keep rowing and pray to the Old Gods and the New that wherever he managed to row to, it was not back to Westeros. 

It would take several weeks to get to Pentos, or two weeks to Dorne; or one week to Dragonstone. Whatever place it was, he would live his life with the common folk and pretend Jaime Lannister never existed. 

He figured he was at least going north as it was getting colder, and the sea was becoming a richer blue. 

_ Like Sapphires.  _

***

The vessel bumped into the shore of an island. 

The sand was a rocky grit, a grey contrast to the twinkling waters around him. Jaime was so out of it he had no idea where he was until he remembered something Bronn said when they were going down to Dorne several years ago. 

_ “That’s Tarth. Where your big bird is from. _ ” 

If there was anyone that would hopefully give him refugee status, it might as well be on the Island of Tarth. 

***

Stupidly for the first few days, Jaime hid in one of the caves which frequently flooded in the day and caught the fish which came in looking for warmth. On the third day he had not seen a single ship nor heard anyone. A few birds which were migrating south went past, and he thought he heard horses hooves once but it was only his imagination from going crazy. 

In this civil war, he only knew how to move forward, throwing the fish bones into the sea as he got up from his dry patch a metre into the longest part of the cave. His wounds were healing, and he could at least walk a bit better. 

The last thing he knew was the Golden Company would have gone through Tarth, and possibly took everyone on the island with them. That was his theory, anyway. 

His suspicions confirmed that when he arrived sometime later at Evenfall Hall to find nobody. 

***

Over the next few months it was made  _ very  _ clear nobody lived on Tarth. Small villages deserted, most horses withered and died in their halters. Jaime did find one palomino, with a golden mane like a Lannister. He checked the island thoroughly. No boats, no ships. The boat had been swept back into the sea when he arrived. 

The lakes were crystal clear, forests cold from lack of sunlight. The animals were starting to become more dominant. Bears lazed on the beaches, and birds shrieked in Jaime’s ears as they swooped him. Wolf pups played around his horse’s hooves and feral cats gave him mice. 

He wished for news from the mainland. But there were no ravens. The only good thing was he was safe and there was food supplies in the kitchens of Evenfall Hall. Jaime, who was never good at reading, had to sit down in the library and learn from a goddamn cookbook if he ever wanted to eat something that was not a mangy squirrel. 

He grinded his own grain, churned his own butter, found old vegetable seeds in cloth. Over time, Jaime managed to grow three carrots and twelve potatoes. 

***

It was better off if people thought he was dead. 

Jaime had no idea how long he had been on Tarth at this point. The vegetable patch had grown and several vegetables were now stored in jars. 

(Until he opened several up to find they had gone rancid because he hadn’t put the jars in boiling water long enough). 

Opposite the large throne of Evenfall Hall was a family portrait of Lord Selwyn Tarth and Brienne. Brienne looked beautiful in this portrait, as artists tended to make their subjects look more beautiful than they actually were. 

Over time Jaime forgot what Brienne looked like. His only memory of her was the portrait. 

Until she actually turned up on Tarth.

***

Either Jaime had grown shorter, or Brienne had grown taller. She had always towered over her, and the effects of war had grown on her face. More wrinkles, more scars - she had a large burn over her right eye. Her hair, uncut now, had grown past her shoulders. 

She was accompanied by a little girl, whom must of been her squire. Golden hair like Brienne, and wearing a suit of armour like Lyanna Mormont’s. She held her chin up high and proud. When her lips parted, she had gaps in her teeth like Brienne. 

Jaime hadn’t spoken in so long he forgot how to speak. He looked up from the eggs he had made on the fire. 

“No Pod?” was the first thing that came out of his mouth. It was raspy, and it made his vocal chords hurt. 

“Burnt.” 

“No Sansa?” 

“Burnt.” Brienne repeated. 

No matter which name Jaime said, all Brienne did was reply they were  _ burnt _ . 

She sat down near him, on the twenty seater table, and Jaime got up to fetch some eggs. Ironically, they were burnt too. He grabbed a jar of salt, but she moved her hand, and it fell on her plate, coating the yolk with white crystals. 

Brienne must have been hungry, because she ate them anyway. Jaime had not been in human contact for so long he didn’t know what to say. The girl next to Brienne said nothing. He waited for one of them to speak. 

He looked up at the portrait of Brienne and Selwyn. How deceitful - making a beautiful portrait of Brienne. But then he realised, she was more beautiful than the artwork itself. 

“You said you would come back for me.” she said. Jaime saw one single tear go onto the empty plate, soaking the salt. “I thought you’d died.” 

“I died with Cersei.”  _ Cersei _ . A name he’d never forget. It edged on his mind, the other face he would soon forget, her fear as rocks started to fall around them because they couldn’t get out the Red Keep. Jaime couldn’t even remember getting into the boat. It was a vague, distant memory. “I woke up on Tarth.” 

Brienne gave him that  _ I don’t believe you look _ , but didn’t say anything about it. “The Golden Company took everyone on Tarth to fight in the war. I assumed I would be going back to an empty island, or one ravaged by pirates.” 

“I’m not a Greyjoy.” 

“You’re one of the last remaining Lannisters in this world,” Brienne reminded him. 

“What happened to my brother?” Jaime had to think what his name was, it had been so long. “Tyrion?” 

“Died of a sickness.” 

“He wasn’t beheaded? Burned alive by that beast of Daenerys?” 

Brienne gave him an odd look. “It’s been eight years since the war.” 

***

_ Eight years. Eight goddamn years.  _

Jaime stared into space from shock. 

“Well,” said Brienne nonchalantly, moving her plate, “Tarth do not use ravens for messages, you know. If you’ve been here for eight years, you should have learned that by now.” 

“...No.” 

“Tarth use the Sea’s Gulls,” said the girl, with a tone like Brienne’s that made her sound like a know-it-all. “Everyone knows that.” 

“Well,” said Jaime, leaning back on his chair. “I didn’t.” 

“Next time, read the books on Tarth before deciding to stay here,” said the girl. 

“Your squire is annoying,” said Jaime, getting up. He felt like a grumpy old man, not happy to see anyone because he literally did not know how to act around people anymore. Social isolation did that to anyone. “Get a new one.” 

“Lyanna, go and explore the castle,” said Brienne, “Leave Ser Jaime and I to talk.” 

With a  _ hmpfh,  _ the girl left, almost stomping away through the hall. “That would not be how you should talk to your own daughter,” said Brienne, glaring at Jaime. “She believes her father is dead.” 

“...” Again, Jaime didn’t know what to say.  _ Daughter. DAUGHTER.  _ His mind tried to shout it at him, but he couldn’t speak. 

“Yes, your daughter. She’s just like you. Full of honour. She’s a lion. A bastard. I came here to show her my ancestry. And you know what? Fuck any of that.” 

“Why?” 

“Because we’ve found you. Family.” 


End file.
